


A Heap of Broken Images

by Mango_the_lemon_fox



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kinda?, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mango_the_lemon_fox/pseuds/Mango_the_lemon_fox
Summary: Tubbo decides to go sit out on the dock and think some things over(Title taken from and fic inspired by The Wasteland, poem by T.S Elliot.)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	A Heap of Broken Images

The dock was thin and shadowy, a long twisting arm reaching deep into the leering sea. A fleshless beast, mostly bare wooden bones with a few areas coated in a thick coat of algae, holding itself up on slender timber arms, barely keeping itself above the coming tide. Tubbo walked across its cracking boards, feeling his shoes scuff the decaying oak, his lungs filling with brine as he took a breath of salty mist. 

“No ghosts.” He grinned .

Tubbo had been working on repairing the hole where the podium used to stand the other day, old gunpowder carpeting his green shirt and pants, his pick halfway through a piece of cobble, when he saw Tommy, walking back from the dock, he was carrying a fishing rod, though oddly it didn’t look like he’d caught any fish, his eyes studying the torn up dirt and scorched grass. ‘There are ghosts in the harbor’ Tommy’d then said, his voice just above a whisper, steps just under a run. 

‘What?’ Tubbo had laughed awkwardly, 

‘Have you seen Fundy?’ He’d responded, his eyes snapping up and his voice shifting, looking much more sure of himself than a second ago.

“Oh, I think he’s with Niki.” Tubbo smiled, pulling out his pick and giving the clump of cobble another firm wack, causing it to break apart into a cluster of stones.Tommy then left in a curious hurry,  
Tubbo thought he made out a shrugged ‘thank you’ though he wasn’t sure, either way, it was a worrying quiet. 

Tubbo looked out at the sea, deep rifts shifted and spasmed, slowly pulling in the tide, which itself was coated in frills of sea foam, clumps of discarded fishing wire, and old bottles. It kind of looked like some sort of beast, heaving and puffing its way towards the beach, ready to consume the land with its rows of broken bits of shells as teeth.

He smiled, maybe he should spend more time out here, it was quiet, away from his presidential responsibilities, from the threat of techno, he couldn’t even see the crater from...oh wait, no, he could still see it, there sitting at the edge of the horizon. L’manburg, a heap of broken images, a wasteland, a collage of mistakes. That’s what Wilber saw at least, Tubbo thought. Sometimes he wondered when L’manburg died for him, was it when jschhlatt exiled him, when dream handed him the tnt, or maybe it was back in that dark, bloody, room, right after Erat hit the button, when the world, his vision, his beliefs, were ripped right from under his feet.

“Was it meant to be, Wilber?” Tubbo asked, thinking of all the blueprints for new L’manburg cluttering his desk, the way he lost his breath when Tommy had asked him to be president, the taste of the salt, on his dock, in the nation he had fought to build.

Tubbo could almost feel a ‘no’ pounding on his chest, ringing in his ears, bursting out of the crash of waves that threw dead salmon on the dreary shore. 

“I mean...you're dead….y’know.” Tubbo frowned, walking over and sitting at the edge of the dock, his shaking legs hanging over the sides, heels skimming the ice cold water. Tubbo laughed, that charismatically shy and airy one, “Sometimes….” he paused “I wonder what words would have been...the right ones..to stop you.” Tubbo ran a hand through his hair, it was curly, and abrasive as always. “The words that would have healed your L’manburg.” Tubbo snuffled, a carp peaked up at him, then darted away into the reads.

Tubbo sighed, his mind felt oddly clear. He didn’t tend to think about things for too long, instead preferring to jump from subject to subject, but...this...all that happened..it cut through his preferred naivety, filling his chest, his throat, like a thick dry storm, a sickness. 

“But..Wilber...your L’manburg it may be dead..but like I said...so are you..” Tubbo said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. 

“It’s nice you know, were fixing it up...Eret he’s sorry, and Tommy..he’s a great Vice President..couldn’t do it without him..oh and we all hung out together, after we had finished building for the day and had salmon..well except Fundy..he said he was worried about eating his mom…” Tubbo rambled, folding his hands sheepishly. 

There was a crackle of thunder, a group of grey clouds starting to overtake the sky, battling against the splatters of blue and white. Tubbo looked over at the flag, it’s post was stuck between two boards, an afterthought in the grand scheme of the dock. The blue, red, white and yellow folding together into a rhythmic wave with the beating wind. 

“That sounds nice.” The voice was low and crackly, like a dying fire, and the moth bitten face that matched it, was a light grey, like soft, antique stone,. Eyes black voids, hair wrinkled and raven. The man was dressed in a muddy orange turtle neck and worn dark grey pants. His breaths coming out in sharp, seemingly painful, wrasps.

“Yeah...I wish you could have come.”

“Maybe..next time.” The ghost smiled, before breaking off into a fit of coughs, the sound echoing all around the dock.

“Will?” Tubbo looked around wildly coming to his senses..the dock was empty, a thick fog floating and whispering around as a light rain started to patter down.


End file.
